


Wildest Dreams

by Lonaargh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dreaming, First Date, First season Peter, M/M, Marriage, Mild Language, Older Stiles, prophetic dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh
Summary: Peter has extremely vivid dreams when he's comatose. It leaves him wondering who that charming young man is he keeps running into every time he dreams.





	Wildest Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stilienski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/gifts).



> I dedicate this fic to [Stilienski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/Stilienski) as a very very very late birthday present.
> 
> Happy birthday!
> 
> Many many many thanks to my beta [DrWholocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samilu/pseuds/DrWholocked). I am sorry for putting you through all that.

_“Has there been any change?”_

_“None. He just lies there. He’s still alive, but that’s about it.”_

If he had been able to, Peter would’ve scoffed in disdain. Idiots. They had no idea what he was capable of. Or, would be capable of. Soon. In the nearby future. 

Instead he remained completely still, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Hearing and seeing everything, but unable to move. Soon, though. Soon.

~~

He’d been in this coma for months now. It wasn’t altogether bad, although he longed to be able to stretch his legs. And he really needed a haircut. But the care he received was adequate, and his plotting kept his mind busy as his body continued to heal. There was so much plotting to be done. 

The best part were the dreams. His dreams were vivid and incredibly realistic. Most of the time it took him quite a few minutes to get his bearings when he woke up, confused as to why he couldn’t move or blink or- well, you get the gist. But it was a very pleasant escape from his near vegetative state.

This time the warm rays of the sun danced on his face and he could hear birds singing. Looking around, he didn’t recognize where he was. It seemed to be some sort of park, with lush green grass, a few trees scattered here and there and people running around playing with frisbees.

He was sitting at one of the many picnic tables in the park, a half eaten sandwich in front of his nose.

Oh God, food. Actual food. That was probably the top of the list of things he really missed. They were giving him his nutrients through an IV right now and it was _definitely_ not the same. Salivating slightly, he picked up the sandwich and opened his mouth to take a long overdue bite of proper food. He didn’t care what kind of sandwich it was. He’d even take vegemite at this point.

Just as he was about to take the bite, he got hit in the back of his head with something hard, knocking the sandwich out of his hands.

“Sorry! That’s mine! Are you okay, man?” A young-ish male voice rang out.

Pissed off and rubbing his head, Peter turned around, “You complete and utter asshole, can’t you watch what you’re- Oh.”

He stopped mid-rant as his eyes fell on his assailant, sandwich and words forgotten.

Coming towards him with a worried look on his face was the most attractive human being he had ever seen.

The man appeared to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, almost as tall as Peter himself was, lean and slim, but not gangly. Peter could see the outline of muscles through the (tight, so so tight) red shirt. Dark brown hair that had no business looking so deliciously tousled, eyes that were a gorgeous shade of brown, lips that were practically begging to be kissed. The man came closer and now Peter could see that his face was practically covered with freckles and the occasional mole and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was freckles all the way down.

“-sly injured?” The lips asked him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Peter shook his head, banishing all thoughts of taking off those clothes to find out the mystery of the freckles.

“I asked if you were seriously injured, I didn’t throw the frisbee that hard but you seem completely out of it,” the man laughed.

Frisbee? Peter looked back to his uneaten sandwich and sees a grass covered, mud splattered frisbee lying next to it. “Oh. So that’s what hit me,” he grumbled, inspecting the sandwich. There were specks of grass and mud all over the table. His sandwich had not been spared this onslaught and seemed sadly inedible. 

He turned it over in his hands, for a moment seriously contemplating brushing the dirt off and taking his chances with a mouthful of crunchy mud.

“Aw, I ruined your lunch. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Peter flashed the man a smile, “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” Now _that_ was a lie.

The man ran his fingers through his already messy hair, tousling it even more, and Peter had to suppress a groan. That bed hair was unfair and extremely distracting. 

“Tell you what,” the man said, “Let me take you out for lunch this week, just to assuage my guilt.”

Peter, who had already started working on a plan to ask this ravishing young man out for a date without making it come over as creepy, raised an eyebrow, not believing his luck. He extended his hand. 

“Deal,” he said, “My name is Peter, by the way. Peter Hale.”

“Please to meet you, Peter Hale. My name is-”

~~

_“Mister Hale? You have a visitor. Your nephew is here to see you.”_

His dream was rudely interrupted by a way too cheerful nurse barging into his room. 

GODDAMMIT.

~~

The next time he dreamed he found himself sitting at an intimately set table, complete with candlelight and violin music. The lights were dimmed and all around him there was the soft thrum of people having quiet conversations. It was cheesy as balls and it made him slightly uncomfortable. 

He felt nervous, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. He folded his napkin for the tenth time and put it back on his lap. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait, sir?” The waiter asked him and Peter suddenly felt extremely thirsty. “A water, please.” 

The waiter nodded in acknowledgment before leaving. “Water? Well, aren’t you being a boring Betty?” A familiar voice behind him said, and Peter couldn’t help but grin.

“I thought I’d start out slow, so I can really drag this night out. Savour the pleasure, so to speak.” 

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as Frisbee Fella slid into the chair opposite of him. Now he remembered why he was so nervous! This was their first date! How could he have forgotten?

“Ah, so you’re the ‘take it slow’ type of man. Good to know!” The guy said and it suddenly hit Peter that he still didn’t know his name.

He tried to remember, as his date ordered something more exciting to drink, but his brain stubbornly refused to cooperate. 

“This is exciting, isn’t it?”

Peter laughed, “It actually is! I know you’re joking, but I’m man enough to admit that I had actual butterflies in my stomach before you showed up. I felt sixteen all over again.”

“Ah yes, it takes a real man to admit that he’s a sixteen year old teenager with raging hormones and a permanent hard on. No more butterflies now, then?” His date raised an attractive eyebrow, “I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or offended.”

“The butterflies have been replaced by something more… adventurous.” Peter grinned lazily and ran the tip of his finger over the rim of his glass of water. He felt pleased when he saw Frisbee Fella’s eyes follow his finger. “Is that so? I’m not sure I would describe what I’m feeling right now as adventurous.” Was it just Peter’s imagination or did that voice sound slightly huskier than a second ago?

“How would you describe it then?”

“More like hard and thr-”

“Your drinks, sirs.”

The waiter interrupted that quickly escalating conversation and put two glasses of wine in front of them.

Peter waited until the waiter had left, his eyes never leaving those of his date. When the waiter was gone, he whispered, “Want to go to my place?”

“Fuck yes.”

His date grabbed his wallet and threw some bills on the table, “My treat.” Definitely husky. Peter took his hand and gently pulled him closer, “Let me tell you what I plan to treat you on,” he whispered hoarsely.

~~

He woke up when someone lifted his head slightly and started fluffing his pillow.

_“Good morning, mister Hale! Did you have a nice rest?”_

GODDAMMIT.

~~

Now he was standing in an empty room, surrounded by cardboard boxes.

The boxes were marked with locations. Bathroom. Kitchen. Livingroom. That’s right, he was moving into this apartment. 

“Hello handsome!” Frisbee Fella barged into the room, holding another box. This one was marked Bedroom. “Hello sexy, want me to give you a hand?” He answered, the pet name coming out naturally. And why shouldn’t it? They had been an item for months now and were about to move in together.

He gave his boyfriend a gentle slap on the butt as he walked past, box still in his hands. Then he frowned. He still kept referring to him as ‘Frisbee Fella’ and ‘boyfriend’. But. What is his name again?

“I’ll get you for that!” “One can only hope!” He called after him as the lovely shaped buttocks disappeared into the bedroom, all worries about the name forgotten. He fidgeted a bit, before calling out what was on his mind, “So, what time does your dad get here?”

“In an hour or so. Why? Are you still nervous about that?” 

“Kinda? I mean. He is the Sheriff!”

“He is also old and my dad. You’ll be fine.”

“What if he doesn’t like me? I mean, I am quite a bit older than you and-”

An amused snort came from the bedroom. “Oh yes, you’re positively ancient. He’ll probably shoot you on sight.”

“So not funny.”

“Or better yet, he’ll give chase to try and throttle you with his bare rheumatoid hands. And you two will have this epic wheezing wheelchair race. Get it? Because you’re both too old to properly run.”

“I swear-”

“And then one of you slips and breaks a hip.”

Peter walked into the bedroom, half laughing and half annoyed. “Will you stop al-” 

The scolding words died on his lips as he saw his new roommate posing on their new bed, wearing nothing at all.

“Paint me like one of your French girls?” 

Peter didn’t hesitate and practically leapt into the bed.

It was freckles all the way down.

~~

_“Is that… is he having an erection?”_

_“Yes Johnson, it’s not uncommon for comatose patients to experience sexual dreams.”_

_“But sir, at school they never-”_

_“No, I imagine they never told you. Funny how they never mention that. You’re going to learn a lot during this internship. Let’s head over to the next patient, shall we?”_

GODDAMMIT

~~

He was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his tie. He looked sharp today, in a gorgeous black tuxedo. He was, once again, nervous.

It was time. He nodded to himself in the mirror and left the room. 

Now he was standing in front of a small audience, hands clasped behind his back. He had to stop himself from twiddling his thumbs and tried his darndest to stand still.

The music swelled and the doors in the back opened. He could feel his heart beating loudly when his fiancé and the Sheriff came in. The Sheriff beamed proudly as he held his son’s hand, but all Peter could see was the dazzling smile of the man he loved. His own black suit was in stark contrast to the pure white tux his soon-to-be husband was wearing.

He wasn’t surprised to discover that he still can’t remember his name. But he wasn't worried this time. All he could think of was how happy he was to have found someone he was willing to spend his life with.

The Sheriff let go of his son and shook Peter’s hand. “Take good care of him, you hear?” He told Peter gruffly, his voice thick with unshed tears. Peter nodded, unable to speak.

This was it. He took his boyfriend’s hands in his own. This was really it. He was no longer nervous, but his heart was beating faster than ever and for a moment he’s afraid everyone in the church could hear it.

“Relax, handsome.”

He smiled at the whispered words.

“Do you, Peter Hale, take _**BZZZZZZZZZBZZZZZZZZZZ**_ ”

What? Startled, he looked at the priest. The old man looked undisturbed by the unholy noise that’s coming from his mouth every time he talked.

“I… do?” Peter hazarded.

The priest nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“Do you _**BZZZZZZZBZZZZZZZ-**_ ”

~~

_**BBZZZZZZBZZZZZZZZZZBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ** _

**__** _“Marie, when you’re done vacuuming this room, I’m going to need you to wash the windows in the lounge!”_

_“On my way, Jessica!”_

GODDAMMIT

~~

Now, he was no longer in a coma. He had been spending almost the entire night shifted into werewolf-form. It was time to bring his plan into action, finally, after all this time. Licking his chops, he stretched and relished the feeling of using his muscles again. It was pure bliss.

He got shaken from his reverie when behind him he heard a boy call out, through heavy wheezing, “Wait, come on! -Stiles! Wait up! Stiles! Stiles!” He slunk into the shadows mere seconds before a gangly teen came bursting through the bushes.

 _Whoever this Stiles person is,_ Peter thought, _‘he’ll do nicely for my pl-_ Then the boy’s scent hit him. That smell. It was familiar. 

He followed the boy, taking care to stay hidden as they got closer to the cadaver dogs and police that were searching for his handiwork. The boy’s scent, _Stiles, wasn’t it?_ set all his senses on edge. Could it be? But surely it was just a dream.

He saw the deputy before Stiles did and he slunk back into the relative safety of the shadows. 

“Hold it right there!” The deputy hollered after Stiles, but Stiles paid him no mind and ran on. 

He narrowed his eyes when Stiles ran head first into the Sheriff.

“Hang on, hang on. This Iittle delinquent belongs to me.”

“Dad, how are you doing?”

 

So. It really was him. And now he had a name. Peter tried to calm his rapid heartbeat as he retreated back into the woods. The other boy was still there, and he would do just as well for his plan.

He looked back over his shoulder at the boy who was being marched away by his dad. He normally didn’t believe in prophetic dreams. But this time…

 _I know what you will look like when you’re older... and I desperately want it._

 


End file.
